A Taste Of Crimson
by sitabethel
Summary: The Tudor with peeling, wood siding and a yard strangled by ivy never had lights on the porch or in the windows, but on that dark night Ryou saw a stranger leaning in the doorway and light spilling from behind him. AU/ Deathshipping/ Fluff


*****AN: Marik = Yami Marik. **

**Today is the best holiday ever - Halloween. This was the fic I'd *meant* to post on Halloween (the one I posted last week was just something I scribbled down spur of the moment.*****

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><p>The cold wind groaned as it rushed past Ryou's ears and scraped autumn leaves across cracked asphalt. Ryou's cape rippled behind him as thick and black as the moonless sky above him. White streamers of hair writhed about his face like the long, desperate fingers of a wanton phantom. Somewhere far off, children shrieked and a dog answered with short, quick barks. Ryou still tasted cider and liquor on his tongue as he walked home from his friend's Halloween party.<p>

The click-clack of his boots striking the road echoed down the street. The night felt quiet despite Ryou's shoes, the wind, the leaves, and even the far away trick-or-treaters. A light caught Ryou's eye. Almost every porch donned a light as well as pumpkins carved with twisted expressions exaggerated by candles; however, one particular porch had a light where none should glow. The Tudor with peeling, wood siding and a yard strangled by ivy never had lights on the porch or in the windows, but on that dark night Ryou saw a stranger leaning in the doorway and light spilling from behind him.

Ryou stopped and leaned against the wrought iron fence to get a better look at the stranger. The light hid all but his silhouette. He stood a little taller than Ryou but much broader with hair that exploded around his head like straw poking from atop a scarecrow's skull. Ryou leaned forward, and a thorn from a climbing rose bush pricked his ethereal-pale hand. He pulled back his hand and watched a fat garnet of blood burgeon in the cup of his palm. Ryou stuck out his tongue, curved the tip, and scooped the blood into his mouth. He was, after all, a vampire that evening, though in truth he simply didn't want to stain his costume. The white blouse he wore with a ruffled collar cost enough to not want it bloodied even for the sake of authenticity.

The stranger watched Ryou with stark, lavender eyes. He didn't move from the door, neither to rebuke Ryou for trespassing nor to invite him to the porch. Ryou, a shy, polite individual, usually wouldn't stare, but the costume and the drinks and the atmosphere manifested within him an uncharacteristic boldness. His heart stuttered in his chest as he returned the stranger's gaze. A madness clutched Ryou at that moment, and he opened the gate and invited himself into the yard. Ivy and creeping thyme overran the walk and Ryou tip-toed through the growth until his steps lead him to the mystery hidden in shadows with a lavender gaze. Up close, Ryou noted dark skin, like beaten copper, and a handsome face that looked capable of heightening the extreme of any emotion or going utterly blank.

Ryou smiled. "Trick-or-Treat."

Curiosity glinted in the stark gaze. The corner of his mouth twisted with the suggestion of a grin. "Which should it be, I wonder?"

"A treat or else you'll anger the spirits of Samhain."

The stranger's lips raised into a proper grin. "Ah, you called the evening by its proper name. I suppose you do deserve a treat."

He raised his hand and offered Ryou the slender stem of a blood-red rose. Ryou felt his heart stutter again as pink roses bloomed on his cheeks. He took the flower and inhaled its perfume.

"No one's ever given me a flower before. Certainly not a rose."

"A pity. Nothing matches the color of your skin half so well as that particular shade of crimson. If you were mine, I'd lay you down pale and bare on a mattress covered in petals."

Ryou's bottom lip dropped, and he blinked. He'd also never heard anything spoken so boldly or with such confidence. He had no reply.

The stranger stepped backwards and over the threshold. "Dhampir, would you like to come inside?"

Ryou's blush deepened as he smiled. He felt more intoxicated at that moment than after he first left the party. The decor was Victorian, high chair rails, thick, ornate molding, over stuffed sofas covered in rich, brocade fabric. Ryou felt shabby compared to the furniture.

He turned to leave, as if remembering his shy, timid nature, but the stranger stopped him with a cool brush of fingertips down Ryou's burning cheek. "Welcome to my home."

"I thought this place was abandoned?"

"No, not abandoned. It's simply that no one's lived here in a long time."

Ryou caught the deliberate way the stranger spoke. He also knew that all the beautiful chairs and desks and lamps should be covered in cloth, the molding poxed with cobwebs, the floor coated with dust, the rugs moth-eaten and disused, but everything looked polished and maintained, and the carpet felt thick and plush beneath his boots. It'd only last for a night, Ryou knew. Samhain. In the morning, everything would go back to disrepair like the yard outside. It was like a Cinderella story, with the gown falling to rags at sunrise instead of midnight.

"Come," the stranger encouraged Ryou out of the foyer and into the house proper.

Ryou followed, entranced by the beautiful stranger and thrill of knowing what was happening to him was impossible. They went to the dining room where a feast laid spread out for their pleasure. Roasted pheasant stuffed with dates and pecans, squash, apples, poached pears, pies, the mixed smells of garlic, cinnamon, sage, and rosemary made Ryou's mouth water. A dish of pomegranate seeds flashed scarlet in the candle light - beautiful, like drops of blood, like the petals of Ryou's rose, like Hades tempting Persephone.

The stranger pulled a chair away from the table for Ryou to sit and he accepted. The stranger also poured wine in a crystal-stemmed glass.

Ryou shook his head at the wine, knowing better than to eat, drink, or even taste any of the delights in the house. "No thank you."

The stranger smiled, rueful and mischievous at the same time. "Ah yes, my dhampir drinks a different sort of wine." He stared at Ryou. He had the eyes of a wolf in winter, alert, predatory, and above all else . . . hungry. "Perhaps dessert shall tempt you more than supper?"

"Perhaps." Ryou spoke in character, as the vampire and not as the timid, lonely boy he felt to be inside. There was magic in the house. Everything he saw was a grande illusion created by the thinning of the veil that happened once a year on that night alone. If a ruined house could be new again for an evening, if a ghost could feel solid, then why shouldn't Ryou allow himself the same transformation?

His host ate, sucking tender meat straight off of the bone, holding fruit with his fingers as he licked juice from sweet flesh. Watching him made Ryou hungry, but not for anything on the table. He yearned to suck the red juice of strawberries from the stranger's lips. The stranger made a show of enjoying his meal, eyes trained on Ryou the entire time. After the last of the honey and cream had been licked from the coarse pads of his fingers, the stranger stood and walked to Ryou's side. He offered his hand, and Ryou accepted it. They walked to a hall. Chandeliers dangled from the ceiling. Soft piano music played, though no one sat at the piano.

"Oh," Ryou gasped when his gaze settled on the floor. The polished wood gleamed; rose petals dotted the floor from wall to wall.

The stranger pivoted so that he faced Ryou. He took Ryou's left hand, holding Ryou's rose between their laced fingers. "Let's dance."

"No." Ryou shook his head. "I mean, I'd like to, but I can't. I don't know how to."

The stranger shook his head, leaning close to Ryou's ear and tsk-tsking. "A dhampir that cannot dance is unacceptable. I'll teach you."

Ryou wanted to shy away. He was awkward and clumsy and would probably step on his host's foot, but the stranger had their bodies sealed close. He moved one hand to Ryou's waist and Ryou had no more power to leave than a moth had to veer away from candle-flame. Ryou closed his eyes and settled against the stranger. Their feet slid across the smooth floor. One, two, three, hold, one, two, three, the stranger taught Ryou a simple waltz and Ryou did not step on his partner's feet.

"See? It's easy," the stranger whispered in Ryou's ear.

Ryou hid his face into the stranger's shoulder to avoid answering. The slightest hint of a moan escaped Ryou's throat as he breathed in the strong, earthy perfume of his dance partner. The stranger smelt of fresh dirt and rain, of ivy growing thick around a crumbling headstone. It was the smell of death, but not the smell of decay; Ryou found the scent enticing. He realized they danced closer together, but only one of their chest thumped as they moved.

"Dhampir?" The stranger breathed into his hair with a soft, yearning tone.

"Yes?"

"Would you like to go upstairs?"

Ryou sucked in a needful breath of air. He pulled back a step, still in the stranger's arms. "I . . ."

His mouth went dry and he couldn't speak. He looked at the stranger. His eyes shinned in the chandelier light below his mess of hair. Ryou wanted to kiss him at that moment, to dig his nails into the back of the stranger's hair and pull their mouths together.

"I would."

"Come. The sun will be up soon."

Ryou knew the spell would break with dawn, but as long as their lips touched before sunlight struck the house, Ryou wouldn't have to worry about it. Then they'd both be ghosts - Hades and Persephone rulling the underworld. The Stranger swept Ryou into his arms.

"I can walk," Ryou said, although he doubted it was true. His legs felt ethereal.

"Not to my bed you can't."

Ryou's previous experiences with romance were rushed, to the point, fumblings in the back of locker rooms or in musty dorm rooms while roommates took their girlfriends to the movies. He never had the opportunity to take his time, to savor the experience, to feel a connection other than fast, hard release. The stranger's antiquated way of courting thrilled Ryou, shortened his breath and quickened his pulse. As the stranger carried Ryou up the staircase Ryou felt like he was worth more than a handjob in the backseat of a Monte Carlo.

Ryou caught their reflection in the mirror. With his fair skin, platinum hair, and black cape, a spectator would guess Ryou was the phantom, not the stranger. The stranger did lay Ryou down on a bed speckled with rose petals (although he wasn't bare, not yet). Ryou lifted his chin and closed his eyes, waiting for the kiss that would stop his breath and heart, turn his living body into a lifeless corpse, and free his spirit from want and need.

The stranger hovered above Ryou. He didn't have a heartbeat, but Ryou felt warm breath blowing against his lips. Close, close, but the stranger's lips never touched Ryou's mouth. The spirit turned away, whispering in Ryou's ear. "I can't."

Ryou opened his eyes. "I'm not what you wanted. Am I? I'm too ordinary."

"No. You're perfect." The stranger looked down at Ryou, touching Ryou's cheek. He shook his head. "Don't you realize what I am?"

"Yes. That's why I came to the door."

A sad smile softened the stranger's face. "It's still not right to keep you here for myself."

Ryou sat up; the ghost mimicked his actions.

"Then why'd you invite me inside?" Ryou turned away, trying to keep the rejected feeling in his chest under control.

"I wanted . . . " The stranger sighed. "I was being selfish."

Ryou glanced at him. His eyes looked lost and forsaken. Ryou realized that loneliness drove the spirit to court him, but honor held him back.

"Selfish," Ryou said. "Then allow me to return the courtesy."

He leaned forward to steal a kiss, all he needed was a taste, one lick of the stranger's pomegranate lips and Ryou could stay with his Hades always, but the stranger was clever. He snatched a rose petal from the bed and slipped it between their lips. They kissed between the bitter crimson, moving their lips so they could feel each other between the soft barrier of petal. The stranger pushed Ryou to the mattress and unbuttoned his shirt.

Ryou gasped and clawed at the white linen and stray petals. Once the stranger exposed Ryou's chest, he used Ryou's rose in order to draw patterns on Ryou's pale skin and tease Ryou's stiff nipples. He placed a fresh petal between their lips so they could kiss one more time.

"I could have loved you forever," the stranger whispered.

"Then let me taste you," Ryou begged, hands still locked onto the sheets. He tried to lean forward again, but the stranger pressed against Ryou's chest to keep him in place.

"You'll forget me tomorrow."

"No. I won't."

"What's your name, dhampir?"

"Ryou. What's your name, phantom?"

He swooped his lips close to Ryou's. Ryou held his breath, expecting to be kissed after all.

But the stranger simply whispered, "I wish I had met you in life, Ryou."

Before Ryou could react, sunlight winked into the room and the ghost was gone. A sigh of despair curdled in the back of Ryou's throat. The mattress he lay on smelled of mildew and the sheets were moth-ravaged along with the curtains. He coughed on dust and choked on tears he wouldn't shed.

"I won't forget," Ryou vowed. "I'll wait a year, and if you reject me next year I'll return the year after that, and the one after that. I'll haunt you until time does what you couldn't. "

The rose still lay on Ryou's pale chest. He held it close to his skin, smelled the light perfume of the blossom, and cursed the morning. Finally, Ryou fastened the buttons back in place and walked down the stairs and out the house. The steps squeaked, and the cobwebs clung at Ryou's hair, but he was too brokenhearted to care.

The year dragged by slow, like the hands on a clock in an empty room, like a corpse pulled through the mud to a shallow grave. When Samhain returned, Ryou declined offers for costume parties and horror movie marathons. He didn't dress in costume, instead he wore black slacks and a buttoned-up shirt the color of a long-stemmed rose.

He glared at the clock, each drawling, slow second pushed him a little closer to madness as he waited for midnight. When the time came, Ryou burst out his front door, he didn't bother closing it, he didn't expect to return. He ran, possessed, down the dark, quiet streets, and through swirls of brittle, yellow and ocher leaves. That year autumn struggled for its place against winter. The air blew cold, chilling Ryou's platinum-blonde hair, puckering his skin like the flesh of a dead and plucked goose, but Ryou didn't care about the cold. The entire year for him had been cold. Each night alone in his apartment, in his bed, chilled him even in July and August. He hadn't dated, hadn't socialized, merely sat at his bedroom window and stared at the night and yearned.

The house stood, as it always did, covered in ivy, lawn overgrown with creeping thyme. Ryou jumped over the fence, ignoring the scratches on his hands from rose-thorns, and ran over the walkway-growth to the front door. The door stood closed, the windows dark, and Ryou's heart pounded. What if only cobwebs greeted him when he opened the door? What if all magic was lost to him forever? All because he'd been too timid to take what he wanted, all because he'd let the stranger set the pace and settled for a taste of crimson instead of a proper kiss.

Ryou stumbled up the steps and crashed against the door before opening it. He couldn't see, the room was black. He shut the door regardless and felt his way through the foyer. He noticed the flicker of weak light from the dining room. Ryou tip-toed towards the dim yellow, afraid he'd find teenagers at some pathetic game instead of his lover, but his spirit sat at the table lit up by candlelight. He didn't notice Ryou as he nursed a glace of wine and stirred his silver spoon into a bowl of soup without ever tasting the broth. He looked morose, as if he'd suffered the same sleepless, lonely nights as Ryou throughout the past year.

Meek, shy, Ryou never had the courage to go after what he wanted in life, but last Samhain the stranger treated Ryou as if he was worth something. It opened his eyes. He wouldn't ask to be kissed; he wouldn't hope the spirit would take him to the world of ghosts and mysteries. Ryou would fulfill those desires himself. He walked to the table, boots silent against the plush rugs, and pulled the table cloth away from the table. The bowl and wine and silver candle holder and vase of roses on the table crashed to the floor along with the cloth.

The spirit jerked his gaze upwards, eyes wide and disbelieving, mouth slack in surprise. "Ryou? I didn't think you'd come back. I thought you'd forget me."

Ryou grabbed the phantom by the collar and moved him to the bare table top, laying him down on the smooth, oak surface. "I told you I'd be back. I told you I wouldn't forget."

"Y-you really came back . . . for me?"

Ryou stared at the spirit, unblinking. "Yes."

The phantom grinned and ran his fingers down Ryou's chest. "I told you that color suited you."

"I told you I'd come back every year - that was a lie. I won't come back next year, because I don't intend on leaving again. You never told me your name, phantom."

"Marik."

"I'm going to kiss you, Marik, and I'd appreciate it if you didn't try and stop me."

Marik parted his lips, half closing his eyes. Ryou bent down to bridge the space, the dimensions, between them, sucking the flavor of Merlot off of Marik's lips.


End file.
